Buried
by morgana07
Summary: Pre-series Teenchester. When someone looking for revenge on John shows up will Sam pay the ultimate price or can Dean find his brother in time? *Hurt/trapped/scared!Sam & Angry/protective big brother!Dean with some worried/stoic/stubborn!John also included.
1. Chapter 1

**Buried**

**Summary: **_Pre-series Teenchester. When someone looking for revenge on John shows up will Sam pay the ultimate price or can Dean find his brother in time? *Hurt/trapped/scared!Sam & Angry/protective big brother!Dean with some worried/stoic!John also included._

**Warnings: **_Warnings for language and mild violence._

**Tags/Spoilers: **_None._

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own the characters. This is written for fun & for fans from a fan._

**Author Note: **_My wonderful beta/plot bunny feeder, Jenjoremy, wanted a little Sam-in-a-box fic and while I don't normally do a lot of teenchester fics the muse and the plot bunny decided to this time. Hope you all enjoy it. Oh, yes, it's a chapter fic but it'll update quickly._

**Chapter One**

**Jackson, Tennessee, 1999:**

"He's 16 years old, Dad! For once, just for once, let Sam be like every other snot-nosed teenager and let him do something normal!"

It was getting to be an old argument, one that Dean Winchester knew he'd never win because his father didn't want to see either of his sons as normal.

No, John Winchester saw soldiers and that was fine for Dean, who at 20, had given up thoughts of normal or white picket fences or even an average job. It wasn't so fine for Dean's little brother…okay, not so "little" since Sam had started some damn growth spurt and was getting closer and closer to Dean's own 6' every day.

Sam wasn't like Dean or their Dad. He didn't want to be a hunter all his life. Hell, Sammy didn't want to hunt or learn how to hunt now, and that was one of the biggest issues between John and his younger son.

Ever since the night his wife had been killed in Sam's nursery, John Winchester had been on a mission to find and destroy the thing that had killed her and all the things like it. And he'd been determined to pull his sons along for the ride regardless if they wanted it or not.

Dean had long ago accepted his fate, had willingly given up his chances for a normal life or freedom…but he still hoped that one day Sam would be able to get out. That was Dean's ultimate plan. He knew his big brained baby brother had the grades to get into a good college and while it would kill him to watch Sam walk away, Dean would swallow his own feelings to let his brother find the normal apple pie life he'd longed for.

Usually Dean tried to steer clear of John and Sam's issues, but this time he was willing to risk his father's temper. They'd been in this godforsaken small town for several weeks while John hunted two towns over, and Sam had actually made a few friends in the small high school he attended. One of those friends had asked his shy but good-looking brother to a dance…and of course their old man had refused.

"I've gone over this with your brother until I'm blue in the face, and I think I might be having a stroke," John growled, slamming the door of his truck and tossing a warning glare at his oldest son. "We're done around here. I want us packed and gone by tomorrow morning."

Dean shook his head while pocketing the keys to the shiny black 1967 Chevy Impala that had been both home and transportation since he'd been four years old. "What's one more damn day, Dad?" he demanded, frustrated at the older man's stubbornness. "Either wait one more day or you move on and we'll catch up…just let Sam have this one damn thing."

"I said we're moving on tonight and that's it," John snapped, gruff voice dropping into the deeper tone it got when his temper was on the surface or something was bothering him. "There'll be other dances or whatever the hell else he thinks he wants to do…Dean!"

Rounding the Impala's hood to cut John off before he could reach for the door to their motel room, Dean grabbed his father's arm to pull him back and put himself in his face, something else he rarely did unless pushed. "Like there were other Christmas's or birthdays when I had to lie to him about where you were? Like there were other days when it should've been his father at school parties or teachers meetings instead of me? And heaven forbid the time he was actually in a play and Pastor Jim came because you couldn't? Like there were other times then too, Dad?" he challenged hotly, tired of that being his Dad's excuse for everything Sam wanted to do or try. "He's sixteen once. You know and I know that there'll never be another dance because we never stick around long enough for him to make friends much less be asked to a dance."

"I've taught both you boys that the life we lead doesn't leave time for things like dances or plays or soccer." John glared while wondering where the hell he'd gone so wrong. "You never whined or pouted about not going to school crap like dances when you were 16. You accepted what we did and fell into place like…"

"Like a good little soldier?" Dean sneered, ignoring the pull of the stitches in his shoulder from where he'd been clawed by whatever the hell they'd been hunting. "Yeah, that's what I've always done. I've always fallen in line and obeyed every order you barked. I did it because it was easier than arguing with you, but Sammy's stronger than I am. We're not soldiers, Dad. We're your sons and just because I've always gone along with what you asked me to do…it doesn't mean Sam should. Sam is not like me.

"Sammy is too much his own person and he actually wants something more than this life of constantly moving around. He actually wants normal and real. And real to Sam includes those little things that don't mean jack squat to you…including something so simple as a goddamn high school dance with a girl he'll never see again." He was prepared to keep pushing the issue since he was already well over the proverbial cliff, but something caught his eye and suddenly everything else, his Dad, the dance, the argument, stopped mattering. "Sam!"

Whirling away from his clearly pissed off father, he lunged the few steps to the door of their motel room…the door that had been kicked open hard enough to splinter the wood. Dean had his .45 in hand even as he was crossing the threshold with his temper spiking while his heart jumped into his throat. "Sammy?"

"Dean? Dean, what the hell is the matter with…oh shit!" John stopped in mid-growl when he followed his son into the room. He expected to find his younger son where they'd left him that morning since by this time Sam should've been home from school. He wasn't expecting to find the room in shambles. He also wasn't expecting the kick in the gut feeling that hit him as it quickly became clear that the 16-year old wasn't there. "No. No, damn it. I didn't think he'd…"

Dean had just finished tearing through the bathroom and small kitchen area in the hopes of finding something that would give him hope that maybe his younger brother hadn't been in the motel room when some stupid asshole or assholes had kicked in their door, but it was clear that Sam _had_ been in the room.

He'd seen Sam's book bag slung over a chair and his brother's history book was beside the overturned table as if the kid had been doing homework for a class he wouldn't be back to on Monday. Dean's sharp green eyes caught the edge of the blade his brother kept with him sticking out from under the edge of one of the beds like it had been dropped and kicked there. They also finally caught sight of a dark stain on the dirty pale carpet that he knew was blood and while his temper was raging, his fear was picking up as well…then his father's words penetrated his brain and he turned slowly to shoot him a look that was pure pissed off big brother.

"Ex-_cuse_ me? You didn't think who'd do what?" Dean demanded lowly, fingers twitching on the weapon he still held as he thought back to the last week and how on edge and temperamental John had been…ever since he'd gotten a phone call one evening. "Dad? Do you know what's going on? Do you know who might've kicked in the door and grabbed Sammy?" He stood up to his full height and stepped into John's space. "Did you know that someone might kick in our door? Did you know something that you didn't think to tell me about before I left my little brother here alone and unprotected?"

"Sam's 16 years old, Dean. He's hardly a little kid who needs protection, and if he'd have paid attention to everything you and I tried to teach him these past five years, he would've been able to defend himself against…uh!" John's head suddenly snapped back at the hard fist his older son delivered to his jaw.

"Against who?" Dean was now livid, furious with himself, that he hadn't picked up on the signs of possible trouble with all the extra precautions his dad had been taking the past few days. "Damn it, Dad! What the fuck's going on? Where's Sam?" he demanded, fisting his father's jacket while the .45 was still clenched in his other hand without any real regard of how close he was coming to actually aiming it. "Who'd you piss off and why the hell didn't Sam and I know about it?"

John managed to deflect Dean's next punch and carefully sidestepped his son while grabbing the wrist of the hand that still held his jacket, recognizing the rage for what it was now. His son was pissed that the motel had been attacked, but he was more pissed that perhaps John had known the threat was there and had done nothing to stop it.

"I didn't think he'd track me back to the motel much less move this soon or that he'd…Dean!" John snapped when the sound of the .45 Colt being cocked reached his ears. "What the hell'd I teach you about not cocking a weapon unless you planned to use it?"

"Yeah, and your point would be?" Dean tossed back through clenched teeth, the vein in his forehead pounding furiously. "I'm gonna use it unless you tell me the goddamn truth about who the hell came lookin' for you and nailed my brother instead."

In the years since he first put a gun in Dean's hand to teach him to shoot, John had never once been concerned about taking a bullet either accidentally or on purpose. This time however, as he watched Dean's face and the steady way he held the weapon, he wasn't as confident.

"About 10 years ago I was on a hunt down in Georgia; a vengeful spirit was wracking havoc on a family. Well, I crossed paths with a couple other hunters, and we tried to work the case together." John spoke slowly, carefully freeing his jacket from his son's clenched fingers and moving to where one of their duffels had been dumped out. It appeared that someone had been looking for something and he was glad they'd had the duffels with the weapons in the Impala's trunk. "Clay and Pete were good ole boys with hair trigger tempers and few less morals than I have…"

"What? There's someone less morally upright than a guy who drags his two sons along from hunt to hunt and lectures his five year old son for being afraid of monsters in his closest?" Dean scoffed, sarcasm still his biggest weapon against the building fear for his brother as he kept glaring at John. He swallowed thickly as he took in the large bloodstain on the carpet and prayed that Sam had managed to get in a lucky blow on whoever grabbed him.

John's eyes glittered, and he nearly snapped his standard reply but stopped himself. It wasn't that he wasn't upset that Sam had apparently been kidnapped, he was. But John had learned a long time ago to cover his emotions because he knew they'd only make matters worse if he led by them rather than his head and training.

"Needless to say we had very different methods of working a case, so when I didn't go along with their plan to use an 80-year old woman as bait, we went our own ways. I decided to go to the last graveyard in town to try to find the grave while they thought they could trap the spirit in salt and then disperse it with some old ritual." John noticed that while Dean wasn't careful as he began to shove his own clothes and personal stuff back in his duffel, he was much more careful when he picked up his little brother's things, especially the laptop that Sam treasured.

"When the spirit realized what I was doing, digging up its grave and pouring salt on it, I guess it got pissed off and before I lit the bones on fire, it threw Pete out a window. He landed on a broken board of the fence outside. He was busted up pretty bad and ended up choking on his own blood before anyone could call for help." The senior Winchester frowned as he picked up a crumpled piece of paper on the bed, realizing that it wasn't some school note of Sam's as he'd first thought. "Clay blamed me….even tried to knife me, but I broke his arm. He promised to get even one day…but I'd always thought he'd given up hunting…or got killed himself…until last week."

"That…that call you got in the middle of the night?" Dean frowned; this could turn out to even worse than his brother being grabbed by some random nutjob.

"Clay was in town on another hunt…not the one we're on…something else. He saw me and confronted me in the street…I told him it had happened a decade ago and to let it go." John noticed the look Dean shot him and he got how stupid saying that sounded given that it had been 16 years since Mary had been killed and he still hadn't let go of it. "I don't know how he got my cell number, but when he called me that night, he was a little too close so I went to meet with him. I thought I'd convinced him to let it go, that it wasn't worth anyone else being hurt…"

As Dean reached for Sam's jacket, it suddenly became clear why his dad had been pushing to finish this job and leave town. "You knew the guy was still around. You knew he'd probably come after you…that's why you were pushing so hard to leave tonight."

He dropped the duffel on the bed and cleared the space between them in seconds, grabbing his father's jacket with both hands. "Damn it, Dad! You knew there was a pissed off bastard looking to get back at you and you didn't think I needed to know that? You didn't think it was important enough to warn me and Sam that trouble might come knocking?"

"You didn't need to know since I planned on us being long gone before Clay could figure out where we were staying." John grabbed the hand that went to strike again. "Damn it, Dean! I'm only giving you so many shots before I hit back now settle down and…"

"Screw you!" Dean yelled, furious. "You expect us to follow every order you bark without question, but you don't feel it's worth your time to tell us stuff that could concern us? And now you seem to think I shouldn't be pissed off because this asshole managed to track you down and has grabbed Sam? Well, fuck you very much, Dad!" This time it was Dean's head snapping back, but he was too pissed off to pay much attention as his eyes glittered dangerously. "I want my brother back…now," he gritted tightly.

"We're going to get Sam back, Dean," John promised firmly, wanting to reach out to his son…to squeeze his shoulder to give reassurance, but he knew if he did that now, he'd end up bleeding again. "I know you think I put hunting ahead of you boys…and I admit that sometimes I do…but this is different. This is your brother being in physical danger by a man looking to get back at me." John sighed and ran a hand over his face. "If he wanted to hurt me as payback for Pete's death, fine. But threatening my boys? Hell no. Clay never should've tried to get at me through your brother."

Dean had grown up with John's lectures. He'd seen so many layers and lies over the years that he couldn't really tell if the gruff, rough tone was one of real parental anger at his youngest son being endangered or just an act. Then he decided he really didn't care…all he wanted was to find the son of a bitch who'd thought it was a good idea to touch his little brother.

"I'm ripping his lungs out as soon as we find him," the 20-year old hunter growled, voice dropping to the deep and hard tone that so many bullies and assholes had heard over the years when they thought picking on Sam was a bright move. He paused to poke a hard finger into his father's chest while snatching the piece of paper out of his hand at the same time. "If he put his hands on Sammy or hurt him…then I might rip yours out too."

Stalking away with the duffels in his hand, Dean ignored his Dad's sharp voice as he stormed out of the motel to toss the bags in the Impala before reading the note. When he did, he felt his gut clench at the words scrawled in a heavy hand…

"'_Winchester, I made you a promise all those years ago. I told you that you'd pay for costing me my friend's life. Your arrogance cost Pete and now it'll cost you. It was dumb luck that I ran across you that day and even better luck when I was finally able to track you back to this rat-trap motel to find that you weren't alone._

"'_Do you know how long it took Pete to die, Winchester? He choked on his own blood, basically suffocated as his lungs filled up for nearly an hour because of you; because you just had to go do things your way. Well, I watched my friend die. Now you can wonder how your son feels as he suffocates…alone in the dark and begging for Daddy to save him. You can live the rest of your worthless life knowing your kid begged and pleaded for his life and that he died because of you_.'"

"Like hell he will," Dean growled, crumpling the note in his fist. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to ignore the image of his brother, sixteen but still a kid in Dean's eyes, alone, possibly hurt, and…in the dark… "No."

There were plenty of ways to suffocate, and suffocation had to be one of the worst ways to die, but Dean had a gut clenching fear after re-reading the note that this brainless asshole might have chosen a punishment that would be especially horrible for his brother.

"I better find that kid alive or else it won't be Bobby or Pastor Jim you'll face, but me," Dean warned; he didn't care how he was speaking to his father right then. All he could see was wide fear-filled hazel eyes. He knew his brother was hurt just from the number of blood spots on the floor in the room…though he hoped some of it was his abductor's blood as well.

Dean knew Sam was hardheaded and hated hunting; the kid also hated their father's harsh training, but the kid _did_ train, so Dean knew with some certainty that Sam hadn't gone down without a fight. Yeah, the kid would've fought, but a confused, unaware teenager who wasn't expecting trouble to show up at his door probably hadn't been a match for a full grown adult on a mission of revenge.

"I know where Clay was staying…it was just a few towns over," John was saying as he finished clearing out the room while Dean stalked the parking lot like a caged tiger. "The blood on the carpet is still tacky so he couldn't have grabbed Sam all that long ago. He'll want to draw it out, to scare him, or make him…"

Dean tried to keep his temper under control; it wouldn't help the situation if he lashed out at his father…again. "You lead, I'll follow since this is your mess to clean up…but just make sure you get this." He paused as he was sliding behind the wheel of the Impala. "The no killing humans rule gets tossed if Sam's hurt or worse…and when I get him back, you'd better never keep one more thing from me that could be a threat to him or give me grief for parking us in a decent place to give Sam a chance to recover."

John opened his mouth to argue that they didn't have time or money for that, but shut it again as glittering green eyes, eyes that could so easily remind him of his late wife's when Mary would get furious with him, just went to slits. He kept quiet while silently hoping that Clay was too engrossed in simple revenge to do more than frighten his boy.

As he pulled his big black truck out of the motel lot, he could see Dean in the Impala on his phone and cringed, figuring the boy's first call would be to Caleb. Once Caleb got word of this then it wouldn't be long before John's own phone would be ringing by an irate holy man turned hunter. "Just hang on, son," he murmured to the silent truck.

"No, he didn't give me a last name, but ask Jim. I'm sure he has pull with people who would know this yoyo," Dean snapped, whipping the Impala onto the road behind the truck while clenching the phone in his other hand. He grimaced as he heard his friend shouting complaints and curses in between a few choice words aimed toward John. "Caleb, get me a name and a current location and then get your ass to Tennessee because if Sammy's hurt, you'll be helping me bury some bodies. Yes, I said bodies and you can read into that whatever the hell you want to."

Disconnecting the call with a curse, Dean tossed the phone on the seat beside him only to look over and feel his fingers gripping the wheel harder. Sam should be sitting beside him. Sam should be, by now, making smart remarks about his choice in music or whining that he was hungry or something equally annoying but the car was silent and all Dean could do was fight his own building panic that he'd be too late and he'd lose his brother to something not even supernatural.

Fingering the black rubber bracelet he wore, one that matched one that Sam had because his pain in the ass little brother had badgered him to wear his years earlier, Dean gritted his teeth while ignoring the lump in his throat and the burning in his eyes. He offered a silent prayer to his Mom to please look out for Sammy. "Hang on, Sammy. We're coming for you."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Buried**

**Chapter Two**

Burning, aching pain shot through Sam Winchester's head, back, arms, and legs as consciousness slowly began to seep back to the surface. The groggy, confused, 16-year old struggled to remember what the hell had happened, where he was, and why he was in pain.

Sam recalled getting back to the run-down motel room after school. He had still been pissed off that his Dad wouldn't stick around one more night so he could take Lucy to the school dance. He remembered being frustrated with himself as well as angry with this Dad. Really, he shouldn't be surprised anymore that his father would find a way to prevent anything even approaching normal or fun.

He knew his brother was still trying to come up with a compromise, and he loved Dean for trying, but he knew John Winchester would never back down or cooperate. So before leaving school, he'd simply told the petite brunette that there was a family emergency and they'd be leaving town to go take care of it.

It wasn't exactly a lie…in his Dad's mind every new hunt was an emergency, and since they were a family that meant it involved Sam as well, no matter how much he wished it didn't.

He'd tossed his books on the table, considered doing homework, but then realized there was no point since he wouldn't even be in this school after today. Sam had been tempted to call Dean just to see where they were and when they'd be home… he'd been having these weird feelings all day long…almost like someone had been watching him. In the end, he decided not to since it would just bring snark from his brother who loved to tease him and an angry lecture from Dad for being paranoid or not paying enough attention to his surroundings.

Sam was tired of the fighting with his father; he was tired of the constant lectures about responsibility to the family business. He longed to have a life of his own, to be free to choose for himself, to be able to do what he wanted and to not lie about who he was or what his family did. He was counting down the days until he graduated high school and then only prayed he had the guts to do what he'd been planning…if he was accepted into a college.

He remembered starting to pack…he had been shoving his clothes into his duffel when suddenly the lock on the thin door shattered as the door was kicked in; the pieces hadn't even hit the floor before Sam's hunter reactions kicked in.

He'd lunged for the blade he always kept with him once he was out of school, but the man who'd stormed into the room was a lot faster than Sam had expected. He'd first thought the person breaking in was an average burglar or a drug addict desperate enough to kick in a door in broad daylight; he was obviously more than that.

The fight in the room had been brief and violent; Sam only managed to get in a couple of good shots before the knife had been knocked out of his hand and he'd been thrown over the bed, landing hard on the floor.

He'd been taught to fight by both his father and brother, so normally the teen could handle his own in any battle, but this attack had taken him by surprise and his assailant was obviously highly trained as well. Within a few moments his blade had been knocked from his hand and then kicked under the bed. After that the tide had quickly turned against Sam. He did manage to get some space between him and his attacker, but only for only a brief moment, not long enough to either grab his phone or make a break for the open door.

He was grabbed and slammed to the floor, and then a flurry of brutal kicks to his ribs and mid-section caused him to stop fighting as he tried to curl up to protect himself from the blows. Things were already getting a little fuzzy when a large hand grabbed his throat to yank him up before a hard fist landed on the side of his head.

Sam's consciousness was fading rapidly at that point; the guy spoke for the first time since entering the room, and the last thing Sam heard before blackness took him told him that this was something more than a guy desperate for money or drugs…this was personal.

"Let's see what your old man thinks now, punk."

Now as his brain came back online, Sam realized he was in big trouble. Everything ached which led him to believe that he'd been beaten even more after he lost consciousness in the hotel room. He tried to shift to make himself a little more comfortable, but quickly realized that he was tied up like a pretzel. His arms had been pulled behind his back and tied together at the wrists. The heavy rope had then been wrapped around his shoulders and wound around his body to pin his arms to his sides. His long legs, bent so that his feet were almost touching the backs of his thighs, had also been wrapped with multiple rings of the heavy rope and pulled tight enough to dig into Sam's skin even though the denim of his jeans.

He tried to look around, but he was surrounded by darkness. Soft thumps sounded from above and Sam's mind began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He was in some sort of box…and that box was being buried. Panic began to set in.

"Hey! Hey! Stop! Let me outta here!" he shouted frantically, twisting in his bonds, only to discover that whoever this guy was…he knew how to tie some damn knots.

As he struggled to move, to kick, to test the tightness of the rope, the 16-year old found that the rope around his bound ankles had been pulled up to hook to the rope holding his wrists and then the terror really kicked up a notch when the panicked teen found that a rope had also been wrapped around his neck…when he started to really struggle, he began to choke himself. He quickly stilled turning his head to try to loosen the rope around his neck.

"You may as well settle down in there, boy!" A muffled deep voice came from a distance outside of Sam's box-like prison as more stuff, probably dirt, could be heard hitting the top. "No sense in you suffocating yourself faster than you will anyway. It'd be a damn shame if you died before your Daddy showed up to try to save you …or maybe that would be better."

"What…who are you?" Sam had gotten a pretty good look at the guy before passing out and couldn't remember seeing him before, but it sure sounded like his attacker knew his father. He figured his dad had probably created enemies since he'd been hunting for a number of years and Sam hadn't met everyone he'd worked with. "Why are you doing this? What…what do you want with me or…my dad?" The boy strained a bit more until he realized the knots and ropes were only getting tighter with his attempts to wriggle free. He stopped moving and tried to make himself calm down, to ignore the dark small box and the fact that he was literally being buried alive.

Being trained to be a hunter wasn't only about learning to use weapons and the different ways to kill monsters and other things that were supposed to be myths. Oh, sure Sam had been taught all of that and more; but he'd also been taught techniques to help him stay calm no matter the situation. Sam had always had a phobia of small, dark places and even though his Dad's techniques worked on most of his fears, this one was hard to shake. Sam couldn't help begging again to be let out of the box.

"Please…whatever this is about…whatever you think my dad did…you don't have to do this." Sam's voice choked off as the rope around his neck tightened even more as he instinctively tried to twist his wrists.

Pastor Jim had always said to try to use reason. As another thud was heard from above, he didn't think reason was going to work with this guy. He prayed for rescue, but a piece of the teen feared his brother and father might not even know anything was wrong yet. Even if they did…would they be able to find him before his limited air ran out?

"You one of those kids who thinks your Daddy can do no wrong, kid?" Clay Baxter asked as he calmly shoveled loose dirt back into the hole that he'd dug before going to pay John Winchester a visit. The hole was supposed to be for John himself, but he decided on another plan when he discovered one of John's sons was alone in the room. "You got a case of hero worship for the old man? You think he'll charge in and rescue you?" He smirked as he wiped swipe off his brow, then winced as sweat trickled under the bandage on his arm that covered the gash he'd gotten when the punk had actually managed to cut him.

Clay had learned years ago that Winchester had a couple of kids that he usually took on hunts with him, but he had been warned by more than a few hunters to let it go. Everyone seemed to agree that going after the kids would make him as bad as what they hunted…maybe even worse. He'd initially agreed with this assessment and never actually considered hurting either of John's boys…until he saw the man again and all his buried hate boiled back to the surface.

He'd spent a week trying to complete his hunt while also attempting to track the older man back to wherever he was holed up. He'd gotten lucky; as he had been driving back to his own motel, he caught sight of the big black truck and had followed it back to some run-down motel two towns over. Clay realized he'd gotten luckier when he caught sight of the boy, the boy who wasn't participating in the hunt and was spending a lot of time alone in the hotel room. Suddenly he couldn't remember why it had seemed like a bad idea to hurt one of John's kids.

The boy had looked like a typical teenager when he'd watched him leave for school. He was tall, almost as tall as his old man, with floppy dark hair and a wide-open face that smiled at teachers and students but had closed off when he got to the motel. Clay watched the boy enter the room and prepared to make his move.

Clay knew the boy was alone in the room; the older brother had left with John and there was still no sign of the black truck in the parking lot. He expected it to be an easy snatch and grab…until the damn punk ass brat had pulled a goddamn blade and managed to cut him before he could disarm him. The pain and his temper had caused him to kick the kid until he was unconscious, and he was still angry enough that he didn't have any doubts about what he was doing now.

It had been easy to manhandle the unconscious kid into the back of his rental car. Even though the kid was tall, he didn't have much mass to him yet. There was no one around to notice what he was doing, and the boy was still unconscious when they reached the small handmade wooden box already in the hole. All he had to do was tie Winchester's kid up and toss him in. He couldn't resist taking a few more shots at the kid while wrapping the thick ropes around him.

He was just starting to toss the dirt over the box when he heard the first sounds of life. He was mildly surprised at how quickly the boy had regained consciousness after the serious beating. Most teenagers would be freaking out at this point. After all the kid had been attacked and beaten and was now waking up in a dark box. He had to realize how tightly he was tied and that his air would run out as his prison was covered in dirt. But so far the boy was holding it together; there was only a slight hint of panic in his muffled voice as he begged to be let out. Then he shut up, probably realizing that the more he talked the more air he used.

"Your old man is a cold-hearted bastard who doesn't give a crap about anyone but himself and the hunts he's on, kiddo," he continued as the boy fell silent. He continued to shovel dirt into the hole without even bothering to watch his back; he knew he'd gotten the jump on Winchester and by the time the man could get his head out of his ass to track him down, the kid would be dead…or close to it. "Did he ever tell you about the time he got a guy killed all because he wouldn't wait to see if we were successful in dealing with the spirit? Did he tell you about my buddy dying as he choked on his own blood? Maybe I should've beaten you even more so you'd be bleeding and puking blood up…assuming he bothers to find you and can dig this hole back up in time."

Sam bit his lip to keep from responding; he knew the bastard wouldn't listen and it would only use up more of his precious air. Sam might not always get along with his Dad and everyone knew he didn't see eye-to-eye with the man about many things, but he didn't doubt for a minute that his Dad loved him and would be looking for him. _If_ he returned from the hunt in time to even notice his son was missing.

Sam wanted to know the story behind the guy's words. Sure, he had seen his Dad do some crazy things on a hunt and the man could definitely push the envelope when it came to safety, but the teen refused to believe his Dad had purposefully done something to cause another hunter to die. He just couldn't bring himself to think that he'd care so little about a human life.

His own predicament was brought back to the front of his mind as one of his legs cramped and the spasms tightened the rope around his neck. His panic threatened to flood back to the surface; what if whatever his dad and Dean were hunting that day kept them from returning until Sam had strangled himself or had run out of air?

He started with a gasp as little bits of dirt and rotten wood dropped onto his face. The teen choked back an even bigger burst of terror as he imagined the lid collapsing under the weight of the dirt covering him. He would suffocate in minutes if that happened. He desperately resisted the urge to beg again; he didn't want to give his captor that satisfaction.

"You think John'll track me down in time to save you, kid?" He could hear the sneer in the man's voice, and Sam longed to punch him in the face. "Does he take being a Dad as seriously as he does being a hunter? 'Cause I'll tell you…ten years ago I wouldn't have ever guess that the man had kids. Guess it must be the Marine in him, huh?"

"Shut up," Sam gritted, refusing to let the words get to him. He tried once again to calm his inner fears, as more dirt seemed to fall through the cracks in the box lid. The sounds from above began to become more muffled as he was buried under more and more dirt. The teenager squeezed his eyes shut even though it didn't make any difference in the darkness surrounding him.

His extremities started to tingle as the ropes began to cut off circulation in his hands and feet. The rest of his muscles were starting to tense and cramp up from the way he'd been tied and squeezed into the box. He knew that the spasms would start to increase and, with the way the rope was looped around his neck, those spasms might end up killing him before his air ran out.

Sam was no longer paying attention to the rambling words from the increasingly muffled voice as he tried to keep his breathing slow and calm. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears and he swore his chest was tightening from lack of air.

He felt the rope tightening around his neck as he tried once again to pull his hands apart or get a knot loosened, anything so he could try to free himself. All he did was pull the rope tighter around his neck; it was now tight enough that he could hear himself start to wheeze. He let himself go limp with a soft sob of building despair. Sam knew that even if he could somehow get his hands free, he'd never be able to escape the box much less dig himself out from under the dirt that had been shoveled onto top of it.

Being tied up in a dark, small, cramped box and slowly but surely running out of air, was terrifying for the teen, and he couldn't control his thoughts as they started to run wild. Did his father and brother even know he was missing yet? Did they realize that he was in trouble? Would they know who'd grabbed him or why? Would they be able to track him down? Could they find him and dig him out before it was too late?

"Dean…" he whispered, suddenly feeling hot and lightheaded. Sam tried to picture his older brother; he needed to lock onto something to keep himself calm. He felt his breathing become more labored, but he couldn't be sure if it was due to a lack of air, or if his panic was making him feel this way. 'Calm down, Sam. Gotta calm down,' he told himself silently; he was too worked up to feel the hot tears on his cheeks or how his chest was heaving, but he did realize that he would pass out if he couldn't get his breathing under control. And if he passed out…he might never wake up.

His almost numb fingers suddenly touched something on his other wrist, something that wasn't the overly tight rope. Sam frowned until he realized it was the black rubber bracelet Dean had given him years earlier; the one that matched his brother's. Running his fingertips over the bracelet allowed the scared boy to remember his brother's cocky smile when he'd tossed it to him one evening and his own thrill that Dean had bought him his own, not seeming to mind that it would be something they shared.

Feeling the rubber under clammy fingers gave Sam a way to hold onto positive thoughts and keep himself centered. Ever since Sam could remember, it was Dean…his voice, his eyes or his hand…who had always been there to center him, to calm him down.

It had been Dean who'd taught him how to slow down his breathing when frightened. It had been Dean who'd taught him how to try to put himself outside of whatever situation was scaring him. It had always been Dean that he'd gone to when scared or upset because while their Dad would scoff or lecture him about showing emotions or being too weak, Dean would provide comfort as best he could and wouldn't make Sam feel bad for being upset.

'Dean'll come…Dean always comes… he's gonna be here soon… Dad'll come too…just…just haveta wait…have to hang on…calm down, dammit…don't panic…' Sam tried to listen to his inner voice which was fighting with his emotions. He forced himself to keep his eyes closed so he could try to ignore how dark the box was, how close the walls seemed, how hot he was, and how much he was gasping and wheezing. Every inch of his body was hurting now from the earlier beating, the tight ropes, and his cramped position.

Sam had about convinced himself that it would be fine, that he'd be fine…until something from outside made a strange noise…something different than the steady thud of dirt hitting the box. He heard a shout…a popping sound…a muffled thud; his eyes snapped back open only to see complete blackness and it became too much; he lost it. "_**Help**_! Dean! Dad! Someone…help! Help…please…" His voice choked off with a sob, tearing eyes starting to swim from both tears and lack of air. He fought to stay conscious, wondering what was going on above him.

Clay had been shoveling more dirt in on top of the box; he had almost filled in the hole. He had lost interest in teasing the kid after the boy fell silent, but as he finally began to hear some mumbled phrases again, he couldn't help laughing to himself. "Kid can't take a little dark then he won't be much of a hunter. I might actually be doing Winchester a favor by getting rid of…Argh!"

The sudden and unexpected gunshot that rang out from the tiny graveyard, which had long since been left to weeds and memory, took the man off guard as did the searing pain of the bullet that creased his upper arm, making him drop the shovel.

Quickly shaking off his surprise, Clay went to lunge for the weapon he had laying on his jacket just a few feet away from him only to pull up short at the sound of a gun cocking right behind his ear.

"You move, you twitch, you even look like you're going for the gun and I end your miserable life right now, asshole."

The deep husky voice that growled in his ear was not the voice Clay had been expecting to hear. He been expecting to hear John Winchester's gravelly tone, and while this one had a touch of the same gravel and ice, it also held something the other man wasn't expecting to hear from a stranger…rage.

"Who the hell're you?" Clay demanded, grunting as he was jerked around and a hard fist landed in his gut; he fell to his knees, gagging when the barrel of a .45 Colt was jammed under his chin.

"Huh, that's cute. You have something that belongs to me and yet you're asking who I am." Dean Winchester glared with murder and rage down at the man who'd grabbed his brother. "You have five seconds to tell me where he is because in six seconds I show you the side of me that's not a hunter…the side that has put better people than you in hospitals for touching my little brother." His fist wrapped in the man's sweat stained t-shirt to yank him back up close to his face. "Now where…the hell…is Sam?" he demanded, teeth clenched.

The older brother only paused for a moment when a sharp voice hollered from down the small rugged pathway. "Dean! Stop!"

"This bastard has a problem with _you_ for whatever the hell he thinks you did or didn't do 10 years ago. That's _your_ problem. He went after, attacked, and grabbed _my_ little brother…that's _my_ problem and I'm gonna take care of it," Dean snapped, not bothering to look back as he pressed the muzzle a little harder under Clay's chin; his green eyes were hard and glittering. "Where. Is. My. Brother?" he demanded harshly with a tap of the gun with each word.

As John hurried up, he cursed himself for allowing Dean to get so far ahead of him. It had taken longer than the older man had liked to find the correct hotel only to learn that Clay had checked out the day before.

They'd been lucky that some local teenagers remembered seeing a car that matched the description of Clay's making frequent trips to and from an old abandoned graveyard. As they drove toward the cemetery, John began to worry about his son's temper…because the more time passed, the more he advised caution and recon, the more outspoken Dean had become about running out of time.

When they'd finally found the place, it was clear that all the training he'd pounded into Dean's head over the years had been forgotten…or ignored. All he was thinking about was finding Sam and dealing out some serious payback to Clay Baxter.

When they'd split up, hoping to cover ground more quickly, John had suspected that it might be a mistake. He was positive it was a mistake when he heard the gunshot; he could only hope that Dean hadn't crossed that final line.

As he approached Clay and his son, he saw a depressed area in the wet earth that looked like it had recently been a hole. He kept his eyes locked on the hard face of his older son. "Dean…" he began softly, using the low tone of voice that usually worked to calm his older son down when he was seriously pissed off. "Back off and let me…"

"Let you? Let you what?" Dean snorted, ignoring the placating tone and the lies he knew would be coming. "I don't give a fuck that he's human, Dad. Sam and I've both learned over the years that humans can be more dangerous to us than the monsters you drag us out to kill." He cocked his head to the side as if examining the sweaty, fear-filled face of the man in front of him before smirking. "Not so brave on the other end of the gun, are you? A big tough hunter scared of a guy with a gun. Gee, I wonder what my 16-year-old brother felt like when you nailed him?"

"You…you could ask him…if he hasn't suffocated by now." Clay couldn't help sneering, confident that Winchester's older kid wouldn't actually pull the trigger…his sneer faded when the hammer was cocked and the muscle on Dean's face twitched. "Hey…you won't kill me. I know you won't."

"You know _my father_ won't kill you," Dean corrected carefully, leaning down to grab a handful of hair while pressing the muzzle harder into the soft flesh under his chin. "You don't know _what_ I'll do. You thought you could grab my brother to make a point to Dad? You probably thought you could hurt him, scare him…because he's just a kid, right? You thought that maybe my Dad would care enough to slip up…then you could get whatever revenge you planned. There's just one thing you didn't plan on, dickhead." His eyes went to slits as he glared and prepared to pull the trigger. "Sammy's big brother…no one touches that kid without bleeding."

"Dean!" John yelled trying to get close enough to grab for the hand that was holding the weapon before his boy could pull the trigger. Suddenly another sound, a very faint sound, stopped the angry old brother from using the .45, and it became very plain for the former Marine just who Dean's #1 concern would always be.

"Sammy!" Dean shoved Clay away with a hard blow to the temple from the hilt of his gun, and then he was dropping to his knees as he once again heard the strained, weak, and muffled voice trying to shout from under all the dirt in the hole. "_Sonuvabitch!_"

Dean had seen the hole; he had even seen the guy shoveling dirt; but his frantic brain hadn't made the connection until this moment. That damn asshole hadn't just locked Sam up somewhere…he'd put him in a goddamn box and had been burying his brother alive. "You deal with him, Dad. And if he's still breathing by the time I get to Sam, you will not wanna see what I do to him!" he yelled, anger covering the terror in his heart that he'd already wasted too much time. Dean was already digging.

"Dean, let me cuff Clay somewhere, and I'll help…" John started to speak, but his voice faded as sharp green eyes pinned him with a look he last saw when Dean was 10-years-old and his little brother had come home from the playground with a bloody lip and his favorite book stolen. It was the 'back the hell off, he's mine' look. Dean had often used that look, even back when Sam was a toddler. As much as the hunter wanted to push the issue, he also realized that dealing with Clay probably should be handled by him…and soon. "Okay…just tell me if you need help with him. 

A short nod was all the answer he got and then Dean's focus returned to digging. The soil was still loose so it didn't take him too long to reach what seemed to be a very small wooden box. It barely 5 feet long, and he frantically worked to clear the box while shouting to his trapped sibling in the hopes that he'd be heard.

"Sam! Sammy! Hey, can you hear me, kiddo?" Dean hadn't liked how muffled Sam's voice had sounded, but he liked it even less now that Sam had fallen silent. His stomach clenched in dread as he realized just how small the box actually was. How the hell had his overgrown little brother been crammed in there? He continued to call out reassuringly, just hoping that Sam could still hear him. "It's gonna be fine now, Sammy. I'm…Dad and I are here, and I'm getting you outta there in a second…so you just hang on for me now!"

Sounds from behind him told him that his father was dragging the now struggling and shouting other man away from the hole, but he no longer gave a crap as long as Clay was out of the picture and no longer a threat to his brother. All Dean cared about was the boy inside the box; a boy who was now silent even though he should've been easier to hear as box was almost uncovered.

"Sammy? Hey, kiddo…I know you're probably scared in there…but if you can hear me then I need you to focus on my voice…need you to stay calm and listen to me…don't worry about the sounds you're hearing… cause that's just me uncovering this damn box…I've almost got you little brother…just hang on a few minutes longer for me." Dean's back and arms were on fire from the strain, but he ignored it in his haste to reach his brother. He made some promises that he knew he would keep. "As soon as you're loose, we're heading to see Pastor Jim. I'm parking us at his place for at least a week. I'll make Caleb go hunting with Dad so he won't be around to bug you…you can just lay around like a bump on a log for a few days if you want…doesn't that sound great, Sammy?" Dean bit back a sob as he still received no response from his brother.

Enough of the lid of the box was finally visible, and Dean tossed the shovel away. He climbed into the hastily dug hole and tried to pry open the lid, straining with the amount the effort it took due to the dirt still weighing it down. "Sam!" His heart was hammering in his chest as he finally lifted the top of the box free and propped it against the dirt wall. He froze as he caught sight of his brother and he wished he had pulled the trigger before his dad had stopped him. "Sammy…"

His little brother's body was twisted in a way that Dean knew would cause pulled and torn muscles. Heavy rope was wrapped around him from neck to ankle, but what held Dean in place was Sam's pale, slack face. There wasn't any sign of movement from the teenager. Was he too late? Then he gasped as Sam's lips began moving, trying to form words, even though no sound could be heard.

"Sammy!" Dean's hands were moving even before his brain caught back up. He could see the bruises on Sam's arms and knew there would be matching ones on the rest of his body. It was clear that the thick rope was tight enough to bruise. He heard Sam's weak, gasping breaths and knew the rope around his neck had to go first. "Sam! Hold still…don't try to move yet."

"…De…" Sam's voice was shot to hell after all the screaming he'd been doing, and he wasn't sure if he'd actually produced a sound or not. His oxygen-starved brain was now locked on one thing, and that was his brother. He focused on his face and the sound of his voice as a burst of blissfully cool and welcome air hit his hot face. He tried to gasp in a breath, but his throat was still constricted enough that all he could manage was a few shallow pants. He jerked suddenly at a touch, his befuddled mind afraid the guy had come back, deciding that he hadn't done enough to him yet. "No…please…let…" Sam's panicked words were barely audible as he tried to pull away from the touch.

"Sammy! Hey, little brother…it's me!" Dean's voice, deep with worry, finally penetrated his sluggish brain, and the touch of gentle fingers brushing over his wet cheeks made Sam slowly struggle to open his eyes. "Shhh, you're safe now, kiddo. We're here…I need you to try and stay still while I cut you loose."

Despite the steadiness of his voice, Dean's hands shook as he reached for the switchblade in his pocket and began to carefully cut through the heavy and too tight ropes that bound his brother. He could see that some of them were tight enough to be biting into Sam's skin and when he felt blood as he reached around the tense teen to feel for his hands, he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from swearing viciously.

He also cursed at himself for not thinking to bring a bottle of water as he took in the pale face, sweat soaked clothes, and shallow breathing. He knew the early signs of shock. "No, don't try to talk," he cautioned as Sam's lips continued to move. "I've got water back at the car. I'll get it as soon as you're outta this thing and back on solid ground." He grimaced as Sam kept trying to communicate and finally leaned in close to catch the words that were coming from Sam's broken voice. "Yeah. Dad's dealing with the asshole who did this. He's here, too, Sam. He'll make sure that guy doesn't hurt you again. Now just calm down and try to take a few breaths while I get you loose."

Seeing Sam nod weakly, Dean relaxed a little and then went back to work on the ropes. The first one to go was the one wrapped around Sam's throat. He slit through the connecting rope that led from it to Sam's trapped wrists, frowning as he took in the deep welt around his brother's neck; it would be sore for several days to come.

Dean kept talking in the low soothing voice that only Sam had ever heard. He needed to keep his brother calm as he cut all the connecting ropes first so he could gently unfold Sam's bent legs. He winced at the ragged harsh moan of pain he heard as tight muscles tried to balk at straightening back out.

Once he had Sam's legs straight, he cut his ankles free and then reached to slowly pull his brother up until he was sitting. Instead of letting the boy lean back against the side of the hole, he pulled him forward, letting Sam's head rest on his shoulder. The older brother kept quiet when Sam turned just enough to bury his face against Dean's neck and began to cry. The muffled sobs told the older boy just how scared Sam had been; usually he wouldn't risk showing this much emotion with their Dad in the area.

"Shhh, it's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, carefully cutting the ropes around Sam's arms and then his wrists before gently rubbing his arms with strong hands. He massaged his little brother's muscles, trying to work out the tension and cramps, until Sam was finally able to lower them; but instead of resting his arms as soon as he could move them, Sam wrapped them around his brother and just held on with as much strength as he could muster.

"I…didn't…think…you'd…you'd…find me…in time." Sam was still panting out shallow breaths, his abused voice ragged, barely a harsh whisper. Dean could only hear him because his lips were so close to Dean's ear as he gave in to the feeling of being safe, no longer able to bury the fear and emotions he'd been fighting since waking up. "I…thought…I'd…"

"Hey, this is me. You know I'd do whatever it took to find you." Dean had to pause a moment before continuing to make sure he could control his voice. The last thing he wanted was for his already shook up brother to know how scared _he'd _been that he might've arrived too late. He smiled down at the top of his little brother's head. "What's rule #1 in the Dean Winchester Rulebook?"

Sam stayed still when he felt Dean's arms come around to hold him, content that if his no chick flick moments older brother was okay with this, then he'd take it for as long as possible. He frowned a bit, trying to convince his brain to think. "Don't…scratch the…Impala?" he offered through a dry throat. He winced as his body began to ache more and knew the next few hours weren't going to be fun as his muscles cramped and stretched.

"No…that's rule #2. Rule #1 is anyone who touches my little brother gets their lungs ripped out." Dean's fingers were steady now that he had Sam free, and they carded back through sweaty hair. He could feel a lump and tacky blood on the back of Sam's skull. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you got back from school, Sam," he murmured. He heard footsteps coming closer and tensed; he wasn't ready to deal with their Dad yet. He hated the lost look Sam sometimes got when he was sick or hurt and wanted to be close to Dean but was afraid of looking too childish or needy in front of their Dad.

"I thought Rule #2 was do as I say, not as I do, Ace?"

The voice that spoke was not John Winchester's, and while Sam tensed automatically, starting to jerk back, Dean's arm tightened to keep him against him. The older boy lifted his eyes up to meet the dark eyes of the bald young man who was peering down at them.

"How'd the hell you'd get here so fast, Caleb?" he demanded, relieved to see his friend and fellow hunter but wondering if Caleb was at the hole, then where the hell was his father? He knew their Dad wouldn't have let Caleb come up alone. "Where's Dad? Did he deal with Baxter or do I get to?"

Caleb was a few years older than Dean but shorter and bald. The two had grown up around one another so Caleb knew the bond the brothers shared. He also knew the issues between John and his younger son, so when he worked a hunt with the Winchesters, he tried to steer his mentor off in other directions.

Now he was leaning over the would-be grave, taking in Sam's broken condition and the still simmering rage he could recognize in Dean's eyes. He realized that if John opened his mouth too much, his friend would probably snap and say all the things that Dean had been keeping inside for too many years.

"I was actually just a state over, so when you called, I dumped my hunt and hightailed it here." Caleb admitted, balancing himself as he held out a hand. He lifted his brows to indicate that Dean had better let him help with Sam. "Kid…you ready to get out of that box and back to the car?"

"Yes, please," Sam whispered. The teen winced as his legs burned when Dean stood and then bent to slowly help him stand. The older brother moved slowly, supporting him as he shook from being tied up for so long in such a small place. "Wanna go, De'n," he mumbled, dropping a letter in his brother's name like he did when sick or upset.

Dean nodded, glancing up with a warning look. "Reach up for Caleb's hand, Sammy," he urged while shifting so he could try to find a good place to wrap his arms to help lift his brother out of the hole. He could tell Sam's ribs were at least cracked, maybe broken, just from the way Sam was now trying to protect his one side. "He's gonna pull your overgrown butt outta here and then we'll get you back to the car so you can stretch out and drink some water."

Caleb heard the light tone, but he knew it was faked as he watched Dean's jaw twitch at the first cry of pain Sam made as they worked together to get the teenager out of the hole. "Shit! What the hell're you feeding this kid, Dean?" he demanded with a grunt as he fell back after getting Sam clear of the hole. Dean quickly scrambled out after him. "I think he weighs more than me."

"A wet squirrel weighs more than you, dude," Dean retorted, dropping to his knees to help Sam sit up when it became quickly clear that lying flat before his muscles relaxed more would be nothing but agony for his brother. "Gonna get you to the car and…Caleb, where the hell is Dad?" he asked suddenly when he realized he still couldn't see John anywhere around but thought he could hear shouting off in the distance.

"Oh, yeah…about that…" Caleb coughed while reaching out to help steady Sam until Dean got him to where he could handle him alone. "I wasn't exactly hunting alone…and to say Jim is pissed would be a huge understatement."

Dean's eyebrows rose at that. He knew if there was anyone besides Bobby Singer who disagreed with his Dad's parenting methods, it would be Jim Murphy. If the Pastor turned hunter was there now, he was probably reading John the riot act.

Because Sam's legs kept buckling and cramping, it finally became necessary for the teen to let Caleb take his other arm. With his injured ribs it was impossible for Dean to lift him over his shoulders like he might have done any other time.

By the time they got close to where the Impala and John's big black truck were parked, loud voices could be heard.

"Yep, Jim's pissed off," Caleb sighed, catching sight of the man with the neatly trimmed beard shoving a finger into John's chest while John yelled right back that he had no clue this was going to happen. "Oh, that is so not going to help him," he muttered when his mentor yelled that if Sam had been paying attention or listened more, this might not have happened.

Dean had gone stiff but reined in his temper to soothe Sam when the boy tried to hide his face under too long hair rather than face his father's disappointment. "This is not your fault, Sammy," he told him quietly, pulling the keys out to unlock the car while giving a sharp shout. "Hey! You two wanna continue this someplace else or should Sam and I just leave you to fight it out here?"

"Damn, Ace," Caleb breathed, not recalling a time when Dean had tossed that much lip toward John.

John opened his mouth to snap back until he saw the way his older boy was supporting the obviously injured younger one, and then he was moving closer only to slow at the protective way Dean shifted, as if putting himself between him and Sam. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured; his voice was gruff but not hard like it could be at times. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, hissing in pain when his leg suddenly went out from under him and only Dean's quick movement kept him from falling. "Just…hurts."

"He needs water, a cool bath, some food, and a week or so at Jim's," Dean replied, catching the nod of agreement from Jim Murphy. The Pastor approached with a sharp eye to notice how pale and drawn Sam still looked.

"Let's just get him to a motel tonight, Dean. He can get most of that there. Sam's in no shape to travel very far right now." The Pastor glanced back at John as if daring him to disagree.

Dean opened the back door of the Impala and helped his brother ease inside. He then tossed the keys to a shocked Caleb. "I'm sitting back here with him. You drive to the first decent motel you find," he told his friend, then looked up at the Pastor. "Jim? Is it okay if we visit for awhile after tonight?"

"You know you boys are welcome any time, Dean. And you can stay as long as you'd like," Jim assured the older of the two. He leaned into the car after he jammed his elbow into John's ribs to warn him against arguing with this plan. "Is a motel going to be okay, Dean? Does he need a hospital?"

"No, I think he's basically bruised…maybe some cracked or broken ribs…a cut or two, but nothing too deep…pretty sure that I can handle everything myself." Dean didn't like taking his brother to a hospital because that involved too many questions and too big a chance of others getting involved. "Sammy?"

Sam was eyeing his brother and father through sleepy eyes. He could tell how much his Dad didn't want to agree with spending time or money on a room, but he also didn't think he could travel all the way to Pastor Jim's place right then.

"Just…just wanna sleep and try to work the cramps outta my arms and legs, De'n," he muttered, having to force the words out. He sighed when a bottle of cold water was cracked opened and placed against his lips so he could drink. He took several careful sips. "But…I can…go on if…if Dad wants to…I'm…"

"You are not fine, Sam," John finally broke in. He stepped up to the door once Caleb moved to get behind the wheel and knelt down to take a better look at his boy's face and his still labored breathing. "This shouldn't have happened. This was on me and I've…taken care of it. Now I want you to just rest and we'll deal with those muscles as soon as we get you settled tonight."

Sam just nodded, too tired to wonder what had gotten into his Dad and why he wasn't lecturing him about failing to protect himself. He leaned his head over against his brother's shoulder and closed his eyes. "Thanks…for findin' me."

The thanks could have gone to either father or brother, but John knew who it really should go to. He nodded his head while reaching a slow cautious hand in to gently tousle damp hair. "Get some sleep, Sam. Dean'll be here when you wake up."

The gruff ex-Marine shut the door while Dean was warning Caleb that if he scratched his baby, he'd gut him. John sighed as the Impala drove off to leave him and Jim alone. "Dean would've killed Clay today," he mused, touching the wedding ring he still wore and thinking of his wife. "I'm not sure Mary would like what I've turned her son into."

"Dean's what you made him," Jim replied, but not unkindly, and then nodded to the truck. "Follow the boys. Tell Caleb I've started back to my place to get it ready for them…and John?" He paused until the man looked at him. "If you do anything to try to keep those boys from coming to stay with me, I will call Singer and Bobby will shoot you."

John didn't like the thought of taking a week off of hunting just to rest…but he suspected that Dean's plan to let his brother recover at Jim's cabin didn't involve him being around anyway. And while he didn't approve of leaving his boys alone for too long, he also knew that this time Dean wasn't likely to back down.

As he got into the truck, John sighed. He'd seen a side to his oldest that he really hadn't before. He'd raised Dean to look out for his little brother, but he hadn't counted on the lengths he'd really go to in order to do that. Now he needed to rethink some things and hope for the best.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Buried**

**Chapter Three**

**Ten days later, Blue Earth, Montana:**

"So…do you believe Dad did what that that guy said he did?"

They'd been at Pastor Jim's place for over a week, and so far Sam hadn't asked any questions about the man who had attacked and tried to suffocate him in a box too small for his growing body. Dean had been relieved since he was still on the fence as to what to think…now it looked like his grace period was over.

The first day in the motel had been bad for Sam, the muscles in his arms and legs cramping and twitching so badly that the boy had nearly been screaming with pain before Dean had gotten the worst of them massaged out.

Sam hadn't wanted anyone else to touch him, but he'd finally relented and let their Dad help because John's hands were bigger and had more strength. The older hunter was able to get the cramps out more quickly, and the exhausted teenager finally fell asleep at the first break in searing agony. He'd slept though the morning and had missed the slight disagreement his brother and father had over the unfinished hunts that both John and Caleb had abandoned to rescue Sam.

All Dean would say was that he didn't care if the hunts needed to be finished…he wasn't leaving Sam alone so that was it. It was finally agreed that John and Caleb would work together to finish both hunts while Dean took Sam to Jim's cabin as planned. John wasn't crazy about being away from his boys, but he knew the importance of making sure the hunts were finished.

Once at Jim's place Dean hovered over Sam, constantly checking his wounds and asking if he was hungry or needed pain medication. Finally, after four days of the constant attention, Sam was growling and Jim was laughing.

It took nearly a full week for Sam's muscles to stop cramping and causing him to fall or drop things. Other than the severe muscle cramps, his wounds had been minor. He had only needed a few stitches in one of the gashes, and his cracked ribs were kept tightly wrapped and were slowly healing. The raw places where the ropes had dug in had required nothing more than antiseptic cream and bandages to help them heal. Dean nursed Sam through it all, steadfastly refusing Jim's help though it was frequently offered.

As he slowly recovered, Sam was quiet. He kept saying that he was fine, that he was just tired, but Dean knew better. He could tell that something was bothering his brother and just waited it out…it wasn't a long wait.

On their third day with Pastor Jim, an unexpected storm blew up and knocked out the power for the cabin. It happened in the middle of the night, and Dean was roughly awakened by the shout of his name from his half asleep, confused, and obviously terrified little brother who'd opened his eyes to find their room pitch black and imagined himself back in the box, thrashing to be free.

It took Dean nearly 20 minutes, a lantern from Pastor Jim, and a painful blow to his face before he was finally able to get Sam securely into his arms. He held the trembling teenager tightly, talking softly to calm him down and convince him that he was safe…that he was free from the box…that he could see light if he opened his eyes and looked at the lantern.

Once Sam understood where he was and who was with him, he calmed down a little. It was then that he also began to talk about his fears and nightmares. All Dean could do was sit and listen and hold him until he'd fallen back into a troubled sleep.

John called every night to check on them, but he hadn't pushed to speak with Sam, which both relieved and annoyed Dean. He rolled his eyes at the usual orders to make sure they were training each day to stay in shape.

"Sam can barely walk a mile before he cramps up, so I'm sure a 10-mile run would be real helpful," the older brother groused to the calm holy man as they watched Sam lie on the couch in Jim's living room while reading a book.

Dean didn't push the training thing. He did have Sam clean his .45, but only as a way to test how his hands and fingers were moving…he didn't time it like their Dad would've. He never timed Sam on anything nor did he time himself when he was teaching his brother something new.

By the end of the first week, Sam was feeling better and starting to get restless and edgy. He actually asked to spar outside…John never recognized it, but as long as no one was pushing the kid, Sam usually didn't mind the sparring or weapons practice…as long as it was just the two of them.

Sam found that he didn't mind so much when Jim watched or came around during their sparring matches after he saw that the man wasn't going to snap at him for not being as good as Dean or not taking Dean down fast enough. He was still weak and unsteady, so Sam wasn't as quick or agile as he normally was when he could sometimes take his brother off his feet.

"He's gonna bitch at me," Sam muttered one day when his left leg gave out and he'd collapsed to the floor of Jim's padded training room in the basement. "He'll make me…"

"Dad won't make you do anything, Sam," Dean interrupted. "I'll make sure he knows you're not up to par yet…and whatever he does have you do when he gets back…I'll be right there to do it with you," Dean promised and meant it. He'd seen Sam after one of John's training sessions and knew the kid wouldn't be able to handle one of those yet.

By the time they began watching for their Dad and Caleb to show up, Sam was almost back to normal. He'd taken to exercising in the morning with Pastor Jim while Dean just looked at them both like they were crazy and went back to sleep.

They cleaned all the weapons in Jim's storage room one rainy day and then spent the next afternoon on the dock fishing. It made Dean smile to himself to watch his brother's dimpled smile come out when they did something so simple, so normal, as catch fish that Jim then cooked.

It was these moments, the times when it was just them and he could make his brother laugh, that Dean was reminded that Sam was just still a teenager, a kid really, with a chance at normal still there for him. That night as Dean watched Sam fall asleep, his hand curled under his pillow and the soft glow of a small lamp highlighting his face, he swore that he would do something to give him that life.

Now they were sitting on the deck waiting to hear the sound of John's truck when the question came out…Dean hesitated and stared into the trees for a long moment.

He'd been considering that question himself for days. Dean had learned growing up that when it came to hunting, his father could be a bit more than obsessed and determined.

Dean had seen the man do things that could have turned out disastrously if just one thing had gone wrong. He'd also seen himself and Sam get hurt because of John's one track mind, so it wasn't all that farfetched to believe the things that Clay Baxter had said.

But admitting that to himself and saying that to a kid who already had serious doubts about not only hunting but also about their father were two different things…so Dean did what he always did when trying to find a fragile balance between his brother and father: he coated the lie with the lightest white covering he could pull off and prayed it didn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"I think Baxter and his buddy were two hotheads who probably didn't know what they were doing and got in over their heads. I think Dad was being stubborn and hardheaded as usual and insisted on doing things his way. We don't have any way of knowing exactly what they were doing…or what Dad was doing…or even if it was being done at the same time…so I think the ghost got lucky and rather face his own mistakes, the guy just laid the blame on Dad." He turned to see that Sam's eyes were calm as they watched him, considering the words. "I also think Dad's a lot more experienced than he was 10 years ago and knows more about what _not_ to do on a job so mistakes like that don't happen."

"So…you don't think he'd…" Sam cut the next question off with a shake of his head. "Never mind," he muttered, pausing a beat before while playing with the band around his wrist. "I really do appreciate you taking the time away from hunting to let me rest up. I…enjoyed just getting to spend time together."

Dean could easily translate his little brother's words. The kid had enjoyed it just being them, pretending to be normal, instead of wondering when the next monster would pop up or having to watch every word or step they made so no one started asking too many questions. "Yeah Sammy, I've enjoyed it too." He glanced over to see the frown forming as Sam watched for their Dad and Dean made a sudden decision. "Go get your jacket and tell Jim we'll grab dinner in town," he announced.

"Huh? Where're we going?" Sam asked, standing to follow his brother, surprised by this sudden announcement. "Dad's supposed to be here soon and…"

"Yeah…and Dad can wait for us." Dean knew the man would hate that and he'd get lectured later on but seeing the cautious joy filling Sam's face told him he was doing the right thing. "We're going to the movies and eating out. Your choice of movie and food…though if you pick some foreign flick I will put Nair in your shampoo again."

"Right, no movies with subtitles…got it." Sam laughed as he hurried to grab his jacket and tell Pastor Jim where they were going while Dean sent a text to Caleb to prepare him for the possible blow-up.

By the time the brothers got back from seeing a comedy and action flick and eating dinner, it was late and Sam was half asleep in the front seat; his head was slumped over on his balled up jacket against the passenger door, a familiar position for the teenager.

Dean took the drive up to the cabin slowly, seeing the big black truck already parked there. He saw his father and Jim waiting in front of the cabin and knew that his delay had not been appreciated. He shook his head as he parked and just sat there for a moment, as if preparing to do battle. As he reached for the door handle, he heard Sam begin to stir. "Stay put and go to sleep," he encouraged with a gentle touch to the back of his neck. "I'll grab our bags and be right back."

"He pissed?" Sam knew that was probably the reason Dean wanted him to stay in the car, but since he was still tired and a little sore from sitting at the movies for so long, he decided not to argue.

"More than likely…but it'll be at me, not you this time, so you sleep and I'll be back." Dean knew if John jumped on him right now, Sam would get involved and he didn't want that. Of course he also knew his Dad knew better than to jump on him around Jim and Caleb, so he probably had a good few hours to work on his counter-argument. "Hey."

John's bearded face was stern, but it did slowly lighten as he turned from Jim to eye his oldest and then looked past him to the parked Impala with a raised brow. "Have fun?" he asked mildly, but the unspoken bite was there if you knew to listen for it…and Dean always listened for it.

"Yeah, he did…and yeah, Sam's doin' much better now after your enemy hurt him…thanks for asking, Dad." The sarcasm was easy for Dean as it was a part of his personality. He didn't always use it on his Dad but when he did, it usually served a point. "I'm grabbing our bags and then we'll follow you to whatever state you've picked for our next hunt…but just one thing, Dad…" He paused as he got close to John. "I don't know what you did back then. I don't really give a crap either since it's water under the bridge…but I'm going to say this to you now, Dad…if you ever put Sam in harm's way like this again or on a hunt because you're too stubborn to do it another way, then I will either take him and walk away, or I will do to you what I told that asshole I'd do to him."

Caleb's groan was heard while Jim frowned, tensing more as he went to reach for John in case the man lost his temper…it was well known that he did not like to have his orders questioned.

"You threatening me, son?" John asked mildly, a small grin showing as if surprised, but then it slowly faded when his son's lips curved in a smile that was pure challenge. "Remember who taught you what you know, Dean."

"No, sir." Dean replied easily, cocking his head while holding his father's gaze steadily. "You always taught us that Winchester's don't threaten, we promise. So I'm promising that if you ever let my brother be hurt, then I'll show you what else I've learned…because protecting Sammy? That will always be what I do…against anyone." His eyes were harder than normal until he slowly stepped back to smile. "We'll follow you."

Dean was thankful to see that Jim had already brought their bags down to the steps. He nodded his thanks since he also knew that the extra bag would have things for Sam and him that the Pastor would've packed as gifts or treats.

Dean easily shouldered all three duffels and tossed a nod to Caleb who was leaning on the deck rail as if waiting to see if he needed to come down or not. He exchanged a handshake with Jim before finally stopping to meet John's eyes fully, sliding his gaze to his sleeping brother and then back.

With that Dean walked away, tossed the duffels in the trunk, and got back behind the wheel of the Impala, making a turn to head back down the drive to wait on the main road for John.

"He's what you made him, John," Jim reminded softly, a little chilled by the icy tone he'd heard in Dean's normally cocky voice. "You brought this on yourself. I think you'd better start watching your mouth and how you handle those boys because Dean's not the obedient little boy anymore, and his loyalty is to that boy riding beside him. You push Sam and you'll be pushing Dean too, so just try to think of what's more important."

John knew what was important. He just wasn't sure how to keep it from falling apart as he watched Sam grow and feared what would come for his son as he got older.

He hadn't liked Dean's attitude, but he had come to accept that his older boy would always put himself between him and Sam…and the longer it went on, the more John could see that Jim was right. Dean's loyalty was to the boy he'd practically raised, and he feared what his boy would do if it came down to protecting Sam against the ultimate threat.

He noticed the idling Impala as he pulled onto the main road and pulled up beside it. Dean rolled his window down and looked up at him. "Might have a werewolf over in Indiana. He up to that yet?" he asked, voicing his concern without actually speaking it.

"So long as Fido doesn't decide to chew on him in a library then yeah, he's good for that." Dean's reply made it clear that Sam would be doing research and not actually on the hunt. Werewolves were still things Dean didn't like Sam to hunt because while his brother was good with a gun, he wasn't as quick on the draw as Dean was yet. Dean also knew that Sam was not yet 100% recovered from his recent ordeal.

"Keep up then," John nodded, accepting Dean's decision even if he might not like it too much. He started to roll up the window but stopped to lean back out to eye his son. "Dean…you know you can't always protect him like this," he began slowly, seeing the muscle twitch that told him Dean's temper was on the surface. "He has to learn to hunt or…"

"He'll learn on his terms and on mine, but the more you push him, the faster you'll push him away…just keep that in mind," Dean returned and then rolled his window up, essentially ending the conversation.

Once he was trailing behind the truck, Dean glanced over, smiling when he saw that Sam was sleeping peacefully again. He turned the volume down on the radio before he slipped in one of his favorite tapes and making himself relax behind the wheel.

It had been a hard couple of weeks and Dean made himself a promise that he would never let Sam go through anything this again no matter who he might have to bury himself.

"Gonna make this better for you one day, Sammy," he murmured, hoping he could in a way that still allowed him to keep his family intact.

**The End**


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